Struggling
by Ragged Claws
Summary: Perhaps in Rapture a man is entitled to the sweat of his brow... but what about a woman? May be slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

Tenenbaum barely spoke English when she first arrived in Rapture. She was welcomed by Andrew Ryan himself, the man who had provided her with a luxurious home and the necessary resources to make her dreams come true. She had heard much of him and his ideals, and wished she could express her gratitude more profoundly than with a "thank you, very" and what she hoped was an affable smile. As a woman of Jewish ancestry, she had never before been treated with what she initially deemed as respect; although the Nazis had allowed her to work for them after discovering her potential, she had ultimately been a prisoner, so she soon felt at home in the world of opportunity Ryan had created, somewhere beneath the sea.

Her first few weeks, researching and conducting experiments in the lab, were frustrating, to say the least. Tenenbaum required a translator, who attempted to convey complicated concepts and instructions from the other scientists with much difficulty. Despite her aptitude for genetics, she fell behind in her work and was usually the last to leave the lab. Communication was vital, and as she refused to neglect her daily work, she spent many hours in the dead of the night (although for all she knew it could have been daytime above the surface), practicing her English.

Months passed, and with the improvement of Tenenbaum's second language came the grim realisation that the other scientists did not regard her in high esteem. She, naturally, had sensed their impatience whilst she lagged in her experiments, but was taken aback upon learning that they blamed this not on her poor English, but her gender. They often made rude comments about her in her presence; she was unsure if they assumed she still could not understand them, or if they simply did not care if she heard.

No matter how determined she was to actualise her theories, she found herself losing motivation. She felt lonely and unappreciated, and (to her great surprise!) missed the sunshine.

Perhaps coming to Rapture had not been the answer.

After much internal debating, she finally resolved to speak with Ryan himself about the matter. After all, it was he who had employed her, so it only made sense to turn to him for advice. Surely he could do something about her colleagues' harassment?

However, she didn't want to make a big stink about it (that would probably only serve to exacerbate things), so she figured she would make the situation less "official" and see Ryan in a more relaxed setting. Feeling uncomfortable at the thought of approaching him in his home, one night she decided to take a table at a club she heard he frequented, Eve's Garden. Maybe chatting with him over a few drinks and bringing up the topic casually would open his eyes to her concerns?

The posters hanging around Fort Frolic of Jasmine Jolene ("Andrew Ryan's Favourite Gal!"), her naked body covered only with a sign bearing her name, should have been indicative that Eve's Garden was in fact a _gentlemen's_ club, but Tenenbaum had entered anyway. She cursed herself for her naivety as she took one of the only available tables (furthest away from the strippers, thankfully) and allowed the waiter to serve her a scotch and dry. She gladly would have left had she not seen some of her colleagues seated at tables, worrying her immediate departure would only make her appear like the foolish little girl they thought her to be.

She tried to ignore the array of probing eyes turning from the twisting, voluptuous bodies of the strippers to her own forlorn form, but found it impossible when a man whom she recognised from Fontaine Fisheries approached her table.

"Didn't think you'd be the type, Tenenbaum," he smirked, taking a seat.

She did not look up at him, fumbling with her glass as she quietly asked, "How you know my name?"

"Talk is how," he answered with a smirk, "Word is you're quite an interesting woman... used to work for the Nazis, didn'tcha? Aren'tcha a doctor of some sort?"

"Genetics," she said plainly.

He raised a bushy eyebrow at her accent, eyeing her with what she thought was suspicion... or perhaps only drunkenness.

"Explains the name, mm..." he paused in thought before continuing, "Name's Peach, anyway. Care for a drink?"

She simply raised her three-quarter full glass in reply, not wishing to converse with the greasy man who smelled slightly of brine.

"Not sayin' much. Hard day at the lab, eh? Or... Hey, do you know the language, yet?"

"Yes," Tenenbaum sniffed, "I speak little English, now, but I not fluent."

Peach took a large gulp of his drink and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"I'm not really one for foreigners, love, but you'll do for me."

Tenenbaum arose from her table abruptly, knocking her glass to the floor with a shatter. She rushed out the door before Peach had a chance to inquire about her price. To think that he had thought she had come to...

The nerve of him!

She felt her face flush as she walked hurriedly away, before gasping in horror as she realised he had followed her. Whipping around, her face contorted in the glow of the neon signs, she faced him.

"H-how dare you!" she found herself stuttering in her rage and embarrassment.

Peach didn't seem to care, though, as he wavered closer towards her and made to grab at the skirts of her dress.

"Leave from me, drunk pig!" she cried, "You know I not--"

But before she could finish he pulled her to him, the smell of fish and alcohol strong as he breathed down her neck, "Doesn't mean you don't a fancy a fuck. 'Sides, the boys at the lab have already spread the word 'bout you spreadin' your legs."

She was just about to slap his face before an unfamiliar voice spoke aggressively, "Hey, Wilkins, what the hell!?"


	2. Chapter 2

Peach - apparently also known as Wilkins - pushed Tenenbaum away hastily, wiping his hands on his trousers as he turned to face the man who had just approached.

"Mr. Fontaine, good to see ya!" he smiled toothily.

Although Tenenbaum could not see how wide and false Peach's - no, Wilkins' - expression was, she did not fail to detect the hint of nervousness in his voice.

Studying the piercing eyes of the man she assumed owned the eponymous Fontaine Fisheries, it appeared he had not either. Fontaine mentioned something about a "hand" and a "cookie jar" that she did not quite understand, and Wilkins gripped the former's shoulder before stumbling away. Presumably to pick up a _real _hooker, Tenenbaum thought.

Fontaine peered at her interestedly for a few moments and then extended his hand.

"Dr. Bridgette Tenenbaum, yeah?" he queried in a thick accent, which she recognised as American but could not place.

"Yes, thank you," she murmured, placing her much smaller hand in his.

He shook it heartily and she gave him a genuine smile; with a twitch of his lips he shortly returned the gesture, as well as her hand. She could not help noticing the fullness of his lips, nor the thin, elegant moustache on either side of his philtrum. She mentally compared the colour of his heavily-lidded eyes to the grey of a stormy sea... and wanted to bash her head into a wall immediately afterwards.

Bald men had never appealed to her before. All of this underwater business must finally be getting to her, she groaned inwardly.

"Funny the people ya run into when ya out for a midnight stroll... I'm Frank Fontaine by the way."

"The Fisheries, they are--"

"Yeah, yeah, they're mine. Smart lady like you oughta come down to the docks sometime. 'Snot much, but 'cha might find somethin' that uh... catches ya eye, maybe? Ya never know," and with that he gave her a wink and began to pace away.

Was he flirting or merely toying with her? Or were they the same thing down in Rapture? Tenenbaum couldn't figure it out, nor could she begin to phrase a question that might gain insight into his remark.

"Why'd ya thank me for, anyway?" he called back to her, jerking his head in her direction but still moving his legs.

"You... you make him leave."

"Ah."

She did not encounter Fontaine again for a few months. However, curiosity seized the better of her and within a few days of meeting him, she began to visit the docks as he had suggested. She wasn't overly sure if it was instinct that brought her there, or the idea of pursuing Fontaine, but there was something strangely comforting in watching the smugglers go about their illegal work. She supposed it was consoling to find that she wasn't the only one in Rapture who wasn't living the life Ryan had promised, especially since that low-life Peach Wilkins (who now eyed her suspiciously every time he saw her) was amongst them.

It was on one ordinary afternoon that something extraordinary happened. Having visited the docks at Neptune's Bounty for the past few months, she had come to know many of the smugglers in her silent speculation. One of them happened to be a lean, gaunt-faced man who could only participate in so much of the work, frequently needing assistance from the other men owing to the state of his hands. She'd once overheard that they'd been crippled in the war. She found herself pitying him, if only because she felt a certain empathy, as she too had been slower than and looked down upon by her colleagues, due to something beyond her control (although she partly chided herself for comparing her gender to a disability).

The same man with crippled hands, Tenenbaum's eyes noted with astonishment, was partaking in a simple game of catch. Surely it was not the same man? She watched for a few moments with interest before making her way over to the group of men.

They stopped playing and eyed her with question as she approached. She looked to the man who was once crippled and asked to speak with him alone. He nodded and shuffled towards her with an embarrassed grin, as the other men jeered with amusement.

Once they were a considerable distance away, she began to question him.

"Your hands?"

"What about 'em?" he smiled sheepishly.

"I think – no – I _thought_ they are crippled. And they are not?"

He shrugged.

"Well, that's what I thought, too, until the strangest thing happened. See, the other day I was unloading the barge and this great big sea slug came and bit me round the ankle. And the next day…" his eyes seemed to glaze over.

"Yes?" she pressed.

"Well, the next day, I woke up and… they were better! I could move my fingers! And I haven't been able to move 'em for years!" he said in excitement, wriggling his fingers in demonstration.

Tenenbaum was naturally a little suspicious. A sea slug? She eyed him quizzically before continuing.

"So, this sea slug… What happened to it? Do you know where it is?"

He nodded fervidly.

"At first I was gonna get rid of the bastard, because let me tell you, it was one nasty bite! But something came over me and I took it home and put it in a bucket of water on my kitchen table. I ain't never seen a slug like that before, so I was curious, I guess."

Tenenbaum took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Would you… would you show me?"


End file.
